


Untitled  for now

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Family, Post-Sirius in Azkaban
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 20:39:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5942398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs Lupin reflects</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled  for now

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

When I look at my son, I can't help but think of how things might have been if it weren't for the bite. He's a man of thirty-three, now, but when I look at him, I still see the smiling boy with tawny- gold hair, pink cheeks and bright eyes he once was. Though his face is still young, it's pale now, lined, and his tawny hair has almost as much grey in it as my own. Remus has always had more cares than any man should have. My heart grieves at all the happiness he should have had.

The bite was the first of many sorrows. I remember the night clearly. My sister's husband was working for the Department of Magical Games and Sports and had obtained tickets to the Quidditch World Cup for us. I was so excited to take Remus, who had just turned five. It was our treat to go to Pride of Portree games, and their Keeper and Beaters were playing for Scotland in the finals against Germany. Our tent was on the edge of camp, and Remus wandered to the edge of the firelight before I realized where he was. The full moon was just rising, and before I could stand to fetch him, I heard my child scream, saw the shadowy form of a rather large wolf, and felt my blood freeze in my veins.

"John!" I cried out to my husband, snatching my wand from my skirt pocket. The wolf growled, and John and I both shouted the spell that Stunned the wolf. Mine hit Remus instead. I ran and gathered my bleeding, immobile son in my arms. There was hair on the backs of his hands, and his ears looked rather pointed, but he showed no other signs of transforming, and I Disapparated.

I don't remember much about what happened when I reached St Mungo's, but I do remember the healers telling me that had he and the werewolf that bit him not been Stunned, Remus would have died, either by the wolf's jaws or by bleeding to death after fully transforming. The werewolf that bit my Remus, a man attending the Quidditch final from Luxembourg, was fined heavily, but not imprisoned at my request. He had only been bitten himself a year prior, and had a family to provide for. But he was to be more closely monitored by the Werewolf Registry, and had harsher restrictions put on him. The collected fine was given to us to provide for Remus' extra expenses, as he would probably not be permitted to attend regular school or have a life that passed for any kind of normal.

During the month preceding his first transformation, our house was a flurry of activity. A large barn-like structure was erected on our property, and we had healers and Ministry officials from Werewolf Support Services and the Werewolf Registry, as well as a fellow from the Werewolf Capture Unit, who gave us a few pamphlets before we firmly saw him out of the house. Remus was very tired all the time. His face lost its glow of rosy youth and turned pale. He lost a fair amount of weight as the month wore on, reducing his once-plump frame to a rather wiry one, so out of place on a child of five. Though he had outgrown naps the year before, he would often fall asleep at the table soon after finishing his lunch.

At last the building was finished. It was the night before the full moon, and Remus looked particularly peaky and worn out, his cheeks almost ashen.

"Mama," he said to me, "does it hurt to turn into a wolf?"

I didn't want to lie to him, but I also didn't want him to look forward to pain. "Yes, love, I believe it does," I finally said.

"How much?"

"I don't know, dearest. I've never been a wolf, so I couldn't tell you." I sat on the edge of his bed and he climbed into my arms.

"I don't want to hurt."

"I wish you never had to hurt, dearest. I wish you had never been bitten, but it's past now, and we must do the best we can with what life gives us." I stroked his hair until he fell asleep and tucked him back into bed. How could I do my best when I wouldn't even be able to comfort my child when the pain came, as it would all too soon? I cried myself to sleep that night.

The next day dawned bright and clear. Had he never been bitten, Remus would have been up with the dawn, quietly demanding porridge and sausage and fried eggs for his breakfast, then rushing headfirst into his day of adventures, playing wildly and happily the whole day long. The day preceding his first transformation, Remus was quite pale, and woke at short intervals throughout the day, only long enough to eat or relieve his bladder.

Just before sunset, we woke Remus and had dinner together, he and John and I. Remus picked at his fried fish and ate a few chips. My heart sank a little. Fish and chips was his favorite. We sat quietly for a time in the lounge, Remus snuggled on my lap, until a few minutes before moonrise when John and I took our little boy to what he would, on the morrow, call the Hurting House. With tears streaking my cheeks, I kissed Remus.

"I'm scared, Mama," he whispered.

"Me too, dearest," I said as I hugged him, "but we must both be brave, because there's nothing else to do." John wrapped his arms around us both and kissed Remus' hair.

He nodded and went inside the barn-like building. As he sat on the small bed in the only room, I called out to him.

"Remus, baby," I said, and he looked up. The words faltered in my throat, but I finally managed, "I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too, Mama. I'll be brave for you." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and crossed the room to give it to me, then looked at John. "Daddy, take care of Mama for me. I love you."

My tears came harder as my little boy walked across the room, so wise beyond his years. A shaft of moonlight crept in through the open window, and Remus stopped, tense and quivering. He let out a low whine, and began to snarl very wolfishly as his head and body changed form, lengthening and sprouting tawny fur on his face and hands. His shoulders hunched and his little hands, whose fingers had always been so long and deft, curled into hairy paws. The wolf who was my little boy rounded on us, and John shut the door, locking it securely. Only then did I notice the tears on his cheeks.

It was a long night. John and I sat in the lounge drinking tea most of the night, neither of us able to sleep for the hurt we felt for our beloved child, or for the howling and other racket he was making. Around two I finally fell asleep, exhausted, on the couch. John woke me when the moon set, and we went to fetch Remus, not fully prepared for what we would find.

When John opened the door, we saw Remus lying on the floor, bites and scratches covering his thin little body, the dried blood almost black against his moon-pale skin. John carried our son into the house and held him while a drew a warm bath. He lowered Remus gently into the water and Remus opened his eyes.

"I was brave, Mama," he said with a small smile. "It hurt so much, but I was brave."

"Yes you were, sweetheart," I said, my eyes welling with fresh tears as I gently washed the dried blood from his small form.

When Remus got his Hogwarts letter, John and I were surprised. Surely there was some mistake? We had been petitioning for the last year to get Remus into any kind of school, and had been turned down flat. But as it turned out, Albus Dumbledore, who had taught Transfiguration when John and I were at Hogwarts, was now Headmaster, and had arranged a way for Remus to be able to attend. It was no surprise, however, when he was Sorted into Gryffindor. He was the bravest boy I'd ever seen. And still is.

Grateful for the chance he had been given, he worked hard, though he wasn't good at everything. Anything beyond the basics in Potions turned into a disaster in Remus' cauldron, but he got fair marks for effort. For the first time in his life, he had friends, and they were so wonderful to him. Something of his old, mischievous self came back into the light. We were so proud of him when he made prefect. He graduated Hogwarts among the top students. I can't say I wasn't slightly disappointed that Remus fell in love with his friend Sirius rather than one of the many pretty girls at Hogwarts. But Remus was so happy, and that was all that mattered to me.

But sorrow began to creep back into his life. Because he was a werewolf, there were very few career opportunities for him. After Hogwarts, he roomed with Sirius, keeping things tidy and occasionally filling in at the local bookshop. Then he was kept busy with some work for Professor Dumbledore for a time, but on October 31st and November 1st, 1980, large parts of his world came crashing in on him. Sirius, his friend and lover, betrayed their friends, the Potters, to Voldemort. He then went after Peter Pettigrew, another of their friends, and murdered him, as well as a dozen Muggles, in a London street. As much as I know Sirius loved him, I can only speculate whether or not he would have killed my Remus, had the Aurors not taken him away.

Remus moved out of Sirius' flat and back to our home. He was moody and shut himself away for a month. The following year was particularly hard for him, but gradually he came out of his shell and talked to his father and me about his pain. He was always so brave. I don't think I would have had the strength he had, were I in his position. But strong and brave as he was, he never went looking for love again.

There are a lot of things I know about Remus that I don't think even he knows. For instance, I think that, even now, Remus still loves Sirius, and hates himself for it. Professor Dumbledore has asked him to teach at Hogwarts this year, something Remus has wanted for a long time. He hasn't had a paying job since he lived with Sirius, twelve years ago. I think it may be hard for him, though, with all the memories. But as I said before, he's very strong.

This morning Remus is quite pale and looks fairly ill. He's sitting at our table drinking tea, reading the morning's _Daily Prophet_. The full moon was last night, and while the Wolfsbane Potion helps tremendously with the transformations, allowing him to keep his mind and not have to be locked up, Remus is still very tired. Sirius Black escaped Azkaban a month ago now. I can tell there's something on Remus' mind, but I don't think he'll tell me. This morning he'll take the Hogwarts Express to his new job. He's far too tired to Apparate to Hogsmeade the way he used to; he'd be likely to splinch himself.

When I asked him about the Floo Network, he paled and said, "Taking the train will let me be close to Harry, to watch out for him should...should anything go amiss." He's never liked travelling by Floo Powder.

No longer the smiling boy I once knew, my Remus is grown into a man. Though he still retains a good sense of humour, he is a man of many sorrows, and I can only hope that this year will see many more smiles than tears for him. All every mother really wants is to see her child happy.


End file.
